Your Tears Don't Fall
by Paimpont
Summary: Before the final battle, Neville visits his mother in St. Mungo's. Written for PaintMeIntrigued's Rock Music Challenge.


**~Your Tears Don't Fall~**

** Summary: **Before the final battle, Neville visits his mother in St. Mungo's. Written for PaintMeIntrigued's Rock Music Challenge. My assigned character is Neville Longbottom, and my assigned song is "Tears Don't Fall" by Bullet for My Valentine.

**Rating: K+**

My mother died when I was very young. I still visit her on Sundays.

Even now, after all these years, I can hear the quiet whispers among the healers when I come. They seem to think that it is pointless to visit the dead.

"You know that she will never be able to recognize you, don't you?" says a new healer softly. She must not know that I have already heard this from all the other healers at St. Mungo's before her.

I nod briefly and push open the door to my parents' room.

"She will not even remember that you have been here." The healer puts a hand on my arm.

"Yes, I know."

She seems to wait for some sort of explanation for my absurd visits, but I have none.

My father sits on his bed, as always, staring out at the blue spring sky. The sky has become his life now; he never tears his glance away from it anymore.

But my mother rises when I enter. She is curious about me; she always is. She reaches out shyly and touches my face, reading my features with her fingers. She looks vaguely surprised; the feel of my skin is new to her.

"Hello, Mum." I don't kiss her; I learned long ago that it is too startling for her to be kissed by someone she doesn't recall. Perhaps it would seem like being accosted by a stranger. Instead, I hold her hand for a brief moment and say, as I always do: "I am your son. My name is Neville."

There is no comprehension in her blue eyes; she merely stares at my mouth, as if surprised to learn that the strange creature that has entered her room can produce such lovely sounds. I do not think that words have any meaning to her anymore. Perhaps my words are nothing more to her than the squeaking of the lunch trolley in the corridor or the song of the bluebird outside her window. But she seems to like the sound of my voice, so I keep speaking.

Sometimes I speak of little things, like the colors of the leaves outside. Sometimes I tell her about things that matter, like dancing with Ginny at the Yule Ball and encountering the Dark Lord in the Department of Mysteries. It is all the same to her. She puts her head to one side and listens intently to the foreign music of my words.

I pull a handful of candies from my pocket and give them to her, one by one. I help her open the shiny wrappers, and she laughs at the crinkly sound they make. She holds each wrapper in her hand for a while and turns it over and over, surprised by the sound.

I place a candy in her mouth, and her eyes grow wide when she tastes the sweetness of it. I know that she will forget the flavor when the candy is gone, so I bring her hard candies; that way she can taste them longer.

When all the candies are gone, I talk to her some more. I tell her about the world that has fallen apart, and about the darkness that is coming. I tell her that Harry will soon face the Dark Lord, and that I intend to be there by his side.

"Some people say that Harry is protected by his mother's love," I tell her, "and that this magic is stronger that the darkness itself. Do you think it is true?"

She does not respond; she just plays with the shiny candy wrapper.

"Ron said that his mother is always crying these days." I find another candy deep in my pocket and give it to her. "She is so terribly afraid of losing any of her children. It must be rather nice, in a way, having a mother to cry for you. Perhaps even Mrs. Malfoy is crying these days. Harry doesn't have a mother, of course, but there are others who weep for him. I saw a strange glitter in McGonagall's eyes when she was talking to me about the Chosen One..."

My mother tries to open the candy wrapper, but she can't remember how. I take it out of her hands and show her. The candy inside puzzles her, so I place it in her mouth. She makes a small sound of delight when she tastes its unfamiliar sweetness.

"I wonder if you cry for me sometimes," I whisper. "Not on the outside, I mean; I know you can't do that, but somewhere deep inside."

She doesn't respond; she merely moves the candy around in her mouth, tasting it from every angle.

"I will try to make you proud," I say softly to her. "I have failed you so many times already. I have always dreamed of bring the sort of son you would want, but I will never make the Quidditch team or pass all my exams, as I'm sure you would have wished. But this time, I won't fail. I will stand with Harry as he faces the Dark Lord, and I will give my life if I need to. I know that the end is coming soon, Mum. If I don't come back next week-"

I break off. If I don't come back next week, she will never know the difference. If I don't come back next week, she won't cry for me. She will not remember that I was ever here. She won't even miss the candy.

I rise abruptly and walk to the door. She follows me, a puzzled expression on her face. Hesitantly, she reaches out and gives me a crinkled candy wrapper.

"Thank you, Mum." I whisper.

But what is this? She reaches into the pockets of her worn dressing gown and pulls out another wrapper, and another, and another... More and more shiny wrappers, until my hands are full of her treasures. Hundreds of them now, glittering in my hands, and falling to the floor like bright silver rain.

...

_Your tears don't fall, they crash around me. _

_Her conscious calls the guilty to come home._


End file.
